


It's Okay, Kid

by orphan_account



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gil Arroyo is Malcolm Bright's Parent, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23170762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Malcom had never been afraid of death. In fact, in the three decades he'd been alive, he hadn't had a single nightmare about dying. He studied it. He danced with the idea, too, but was never struck with the fear that it might claim him as it claimed his father's victims - and as it claimed the victims he saw in his work.This changed after John Watkins.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 2
Kudos: 74





	It's Okay, Kid

**Author's Note:**

> The lack of emotional closure we got post-watkins was extremely uncool and drove me to this. My first fanfic on this site.  
> Let me know what you think.

Malcom had never been afraid of death. In fact, in the three decades he'd been alive, he hadn't had a single nightmare about dying. He studied it. He danced with the idea, too, but was never struck with the fear that it might claim him as it claimed his father's victims - and as it claimed the victims he saw in his work.

This changed after John Watkins.

Propping an elbow against the wall cool-ly, Malcom watched as Edrissa explained their victim's cause of death to Gil, J.T, Dani and him.

"It's almost poetic - a serrated dagger was stabbed through their diaphragm, barely puncturing their lung. Their death would have been agonizing and slow, and yet our suspect didn't seem that interested in ending it. I'm guessing it took somewhere between ten and twenty minutes for their lungs to completely fill with blood, which caused them to suffocate."

J.T's cringed, Dani's eyes were glued to the case file in her hands and Gil, stone-faced as ever, rose a brow towards Bright. He silently implored the younger to further analyze the data they were given, as he'd always enthusiastically done.

But Malcom found himself frozen, and hesitating. A static friction consumed his body, choking him up. He tried to step towards the gathering, but faltered. The now-healing scar on his abdomen ached with a familiar chill. Something in his subconscious had him tethered to the floor, immortalizing this moment in his mind, shutting everything else out.

_ "Bright?"  _ Gil questioned through the haze. Malcom shook his head in an attempt to dismiss the bizarre sensation. He continued forward, eyeing the body up and down as he spoke.

"I don't think our unsub did any of this on accident. I think he -  _ and they are most likely male _ \- is a sadist," he began, confidently. As his eyes landed on the now-stitched wound on their chest, the same freezing sensation flooded his body. This time, his skin became pins-and-needles. His gaze froze on that spot as his heart inched its way into his stomach. 

Most parts of the brain are, in some way, responsible for survival; None more than the limbic system. Right now, Malcom's limbic system was doing the thing it was built for: detecting fear and activating fight-or-flight (or, in this case, freeze.) 

Processing sensory information mostly took place in the frontal cortex. That wasn't happening in Malcom. Most autonomic body functions took place in the pons, medulla and brainstem. Those weren't working, either.

_ There is nothing to be afraid of.  _ Malcom comforted himself as if he were trying to calm an angry, unpredictable beast. He took a deep breath. For a moment, he thought the feeling would go away.

_ That was almost you.  _ His mind would say in response. Malcom, reeling, forced himself to look away from the body. He tried to retrieve some information to offer Gil and the others - but drew blanks. He felt Dani's gaze on him, piercing, unabided. She possessed an incredible ability to tell when something was  _ off _ . The same way J.T could read a room, or Gil could sense danger. 

_"Bright?_ You alright?" Dani asked. It occurred, then, that Gil had been calling his name. Malcom took another deep breath.

_ You're breathing too much. You're too quiet. You'll give yourself away.  _ His brain said.

"I'm sorry, where were we? _ Right."  _ Malcom began. "Our unsub had a deep, personal relationship with the victim. He likely feels that they wronged him, somehow."

_ John Watkins felt that way about you, too.  _ Malcom's mind countered. The young profiler found himself pressing nails into his palms to stop his hands from shaking. "Something significant triggered this. They would've been angry, and capitalized on that anger to justify their sadism. The disposal of the body indicates remorse. Check family members, exes, anyone who's gone through a loss or divorce." 

As Gil, Dani, and J.T processed this information, Malcom closed his eyes and fought the urge to get as far away from them as possible.  _ "Please, excuse me,"  _ he said politely. 

Before anyone could respond, he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

\---

Malcom is home. He's in his kitchen, hunched over the sink, sweating, shaking. He's running his hands underneath the cold faucet, but it does nothing to ease the burning sensation all over his body. He's breathing too fast. His vision is blurry. He counts his breaths,  _ one, two, three, four - too fast _ . His stomach is twisting, making him feel sick.

All because he can't stop imagining himself in the shoes of their victim. He'd spent many nights lying awake wondering what it would have been like to die at the hands of Watkins. Would he have felt lonely? Guilty? Scared?

_ Guilty.  _ He traces his mind over the word. For him to die meant that others would have had to grieve. His mother and sister would have been killed, too.

His entire family, gone forever, in an instant.

He imagines Gil, the first to the crime scene. His fatherly silhouette, kneeling over his lifeless body. It nearly breaks him. 

_ Stop it.  _ He begs his mind. He tries to grab the wheel and steer it somewhere else -  _ anywhere  _ else. But he imagines his casket being lowered into the ground and he can't breathe. 

_ He can't breathe.  _ His feet slide out from under him. He's sobbing, his shoulders are shaking with each heave and he can't take a full breath. His phone is ringing. When he finally works up the nerve to take it out of his pocket, it slips through his fingers like butter. As it clatters to the floor he sees a name on the screen:  _ Gil Arroyo _ . He doesn't answer. He can't.

\---

Something had been bothering Malcom since the start of the case. He'd been acting off - even by his standards. Gil has a feeling he knows why, too. It didn't take a genius to figure it out: Their victim had been wounded similarly to Malcom, post-Watkins.

_ Watkins.  _ Gil could feel his blood pressure going up at the name. The two long weeks Malcom spent in the hospital after the ordeal had been rough, to say the least. Gil had tried his best to stay calm and collected throughout - the last thing Malcom needed was for him to freak out on him. After everything, what he needed was stability. 

But now, the worry is eating at him. And he needs to know that the kid is alright.

He's planning to justify his concerns to Malcom with something like _"It's interfering with your ability to work"._ But the truth was, Gil was worried as his friend - no \- _family_. There was no tiptoeing around it: He owes that kid his life.

The least he could do was check on him.

So when Malcom doesn't answer his calls, he does.

He buzzes the apartment ringer, waits for a minute, then buzzes again. The worry swells through his body like a tide and he forces himself not to imagine the worst on the other side of the door, just up the stairs.

Against his better judgement, he waits longer.

The door eventually opens and Malcom's thin, shaking frame all but falls out of it. He's holding onto the wall for support, his shoulders quaking. His eyes are red with unshed tears.

_ "Gil,"  _ he says, his voice hoarse. Gil blinks. He feels his heart sink into his stomach at the sight. 

In one movement, he puts a hand on his spine and steers him back inside. As he shuts the door behind them, Malcom stares at the floor as if ashamed. He's shaking, holding himself. Gil doesn't go far.

"Kid, what's going on?" He asks lowly, keeping a hand on his shoulder. "Did something happen?"

"No," Malcom quickly replies. He closes his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "No. Nothing's changed. Why are you here, Gil?" __

"I'm worried about you, kid. You seemed pretty out of it today." Gil said, trying his best to sound calm but still concerned. "Do you want to talk about this?" he asks softly. Malcom gives him the most miserable look imaginable. He hesitates, then tentatively speaks.

_ "Are - are you afraid of dying?"  _ he blurts out, stammering. Gil raises a brow at him.

"Aren't we all?" He tilts his head slightly, worried.  _ "What brought this up?"  _

Malcom's body visibly tenses. He's holding back a sob when he speaks, his voice hardly a whisper.

_ "Watkins."  _

Gil closes his eyes briefly as if the statement physically hurt to hear. As if on instinct, he pulls him into his chest, hugging him. He hopes it makes him feel safer, but he's almost certain that it doesn't.

Malcom blinks in confusion, but the tears don't stop. He's sobbing faintly as he takes fistfuls of Gil's jacket, ducking his head against his shoulder.

_ "It's okay, kid."  _ Gil says. He feels useless. He thinks that maybe he's never felt this useless before in his life. A part of him is glad that Malcom doesn't have any reservations about it.

_ "I'm sorry, Gil. 'm sorry."  _ Malcom whimpers. Gil peels away, holding him at arm's length. He leans down to eye level with him before speaking, his hands on the sides of his neck.

_ "Hey, knock that off. You have nothing to apologize for,"  _ he says.  _ "And I'm not gonna lie to you and tell you that our job - what we do - is safe. But I will do everything I possibly can to make it that way." _

_ "Okay, Gil."  _

_ "As long as you call for backup."  _ Malcom smiles at that, huffing a shallow laugh.

_ "Okay."  _


End file.
